I admit, I’m not the perfect wife. I try. I really do. I’ve been cooking more lately, screeching (or is that sniping? I’m totally being sarcastic because neither is all that true) less, I’ve even attempted to be *gasp* rational. No really, I have. It’s not fun, it’s a lot more like being a man than most of us women ever really want to be. Nope, give me good, old-fashioned, raw emotions any day, those I can totally handle.

Things have been pretty stressful around here and just as we find out that the light at the end of the tunnel most likely isn’t a train, we find out that the tunnel is another 5 or 10 miles long. It’s not surprising that the stress is beginning to take a toll on all of us, but lately Mike is looking a little raggedy around the edges.

I have extreme powers of observation. I can tell the difference between a “no coffee yet” grumble and a “don’t poke the bear” grumble. I’m just that good. Being the kind, loving mother that I am instead of throwing the cubs to the grumbly bear and escaping with my ass intact, I instead chose to warn my offspring that their father is just a bit edgy.

“Your father is starting to worry me a little.” I said to our oldest after the girls had escaped to Nana’s for a nice swim. “I think the stress is finally getting to him and… well, I think he’s losing it a bit. So, no jokes, don’t get in his face, and for God’s sake, don’t poke the bear. Ok?”

My eldest nodded with a knowing glance that told me he had already ventured near the bear with a long pointy stick and decided even if said stick was 10 feet long and he had a really good head start, there was a really good shot that the bear would still leap on to his back and rip his little pointy head off and howl.

I gave my son this wise advice as Mike was outside poking around in the yard, not unlike a hungry bear. I started cooking dinner warily watching my husband (now inside) nosing around the kitchen, not unlike how a hungry bear might sniff around a dumpster. I finished my salad and stuck it in the fridge to chill.

The bear was making egg rolls with Ethan’s pizza cooker. I asked if he was hungry and he grumbled. I backed away and went back to sneaking bites of the salad out of the fridge while waiting for meat (that Ethan forgot to thaw earlier) to finish thawing.

I glanced over and noticed that the bear was smacking his lips and emitting a low growl.

“Hey, watcha doin?” I said in a throaty sort of sweet/sexy voice.

“Eating an egg roll.” Came the growly reply.

“Huh. That is amazing. I never would have thought you could eat with that giant stick up your ass.”

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Blah blah, earthquake. Yadda yadda. I think it’s only a big deal if you don’t live here. Of course, if your house gets knocked down then it’s a really big deal, so fellow Californians don’t go scalping me over that first statement there.

My house rolled a bit. Our light fixtures swung pretty hard. Nothing broken, cracked, etc. Except maybe for Zander’s nerves. Poor neurotic doggy. He’s barking at the wind blowing through the trees, butterflies, and every little noise now. Earthquakes do seriously messed up things to animals.

In a moment of empathy I suggested we give the dog a beer.

This launched my husband into a ridiculous (and thankfully, not serious) tirade on my advice to people on coping methods. According to my husband, my motto is “there is nothing a beer/drink cannot solve.”

If you were really inside my existence you might understand why I sort of tip (not LEAN) in that direction. My husband is just good at exaggerating everything for what he thinks is comedic gold.

“Break your leg - have a beer.”

“Sprain your ankle? Have a beer.” (Ok, so that one is a little true.)

“Tired? Grumpy? PMS’ing? Have a beer!”

I picked up my stapler and caressed it lovingly… he decided to shut up.

Ethan asked how much beer he should give Zander.

“The can.” I replied.

What?!?!? It was cheap, canned beer. I certainly won’t be drinking it!

“Amy! Giving that dog a can is like me drinking a pony keg.” Mike said.

I think I suggested he might need to take a fork and jam it into his forehead. I mean, seriously, a pony keg? Give me a break. Maybe a 12 pack… tops. Not a pony keg. Good God. He proceeded to explain that this sort of thing was done by weight and that if you held the can up to Zander that might be like holding a pony keg up to him.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Oooo, I just quiver when he gets all scientific like that.

I rolled my eyes and explained to him that if he didn’t just shut the hell up there was nothing more I would enjoy than seeing his nuts on the end of a fork. He mentioned something about my being violent and I pointed at the calender and asked him how much he appreciated walking without a limp.

Kari asked me how well he handles his booze.

I said, “Better than most of the people I know. He’s only bad if he’s on vodka. Then he just makes an ass out of himself. And, again, I’m referring to the dog, not Mike.

It’s true, ONE time on the 4th of July I might have gotten the poor dog a little rip roaring, stinking, stumbling blind drunk tipsy. He became obsessed with walking on the cement border along the flower beds only he kept falling into the flower beds… and snoring. Ok, so ONE time, ONE time I made the dog a mudslide in his own glass. I even made myself one and sat on the porch drinking it with him. Give me a break, we (the dog and I) were drinking socially. I think Mike was more upset that Zander embarrassed him by tripping over the feet of a few people who were hanging out with us and insisted on walking sideways. Truth be told Mike was mortified over the fact that his dog was drinking “la la” drinks.

Truthfully, we should all just forget about that. The fact was, Zander was totally off-kilter because of the damn earthquake and it is OUR duty as his owners to provide him comfort in his time of need. In the end, the dog got his beer and at last check, was sleeping soundly… only he didn’t make it to his bed in the garage, he just passed out fell asleep in the middle of the garage. See the hell I have to go through to help an innocent animal?

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Saturday night we decided to go healthy. Mike made shrimp kebabs with shrimp, green bell peppers, red onion, peaches (yes, peaches - awesome!), and tomatoes. The bell pepper and peaches gave a sort of sweet and sour chicken feel to it without the gloopy, sugar-laden sauce.

Shrimp on the barbie!

What I really love about kebabs is that they provide instant weapons. If someone pisses you off at dinner you just impale them with a kebab. It’s just so damn easy! Kate likes to collect everyone’s kebab sticks and place them menacingly next to her plate. That’s right, even dinner is an act of survival around here.

On the side I made Wild Rice Salad one of Crys’ amazing recipes! I think next time I’ll substitute in some bulger wheat for extra fiber, but seriously - that recipe is soooo good and it is sooo pretty. Guaranteed to impress!

Also made Gazpacho. Gazpacho is a cold soup made of pureed vegetables. On the surface it doesn’t sound appealing. It’s actually pretty good. According to this article it’s excellent for your health. I used this recipe but if anyone has a better recipe for it - please pass it along to me!

Gazpacho!

I even got all gourmet and made Crystal’s Easy Breezy Everyday Pesto which is indeed easy and mind-blowing delicious! It’s excellent on shrimp too!

I don’t know that I’ll go all vegetarian (clearly not what with grilled shrimp and all) but I definitely am adding in healthier things and more veggies into my diet. I feel better… but then Mike made chili, actually, he made a fairly healthy version with tons of fresh veggies and lean ground sirloin, lots of yummy spices but not too spicy. It was awesome. But, after all the fiber and nutritious goodness that I had partaken in - well, uh-hem, it’s just not ladylike to go any further, so I won’t.

Let’s just say I am thrilled that my family is not one of those families (no offense to those who do! - geezus the PC qualifier extent to which one must go these days) who likes bathroom humor. We don’t go in for lots of gas jokes, passing gas and blaming it on the dog, things like that. It’s not our thing. Although, I understand that occasionally, when the girls aren’t around, that men who are clearly to old to get a giggle out of that sort of thing will boys will be boys.

So, I have to weigh the consequences of eating healthier and possibly subjecting my family to either my lower extremities exploding completely or mini explosions as I run up the stairs (why do stairs have to have that affect?) while attempting to cough at the same time (hello! One uterus, 3 births… does not compute) to cover the noise.

I’m going with healthier for now and I’m going to console myself with desperate belief that my family will not make “gas” jokes at my funeral, which will hopefully be something like 50 years or so from now. Which reminds me, Mike is so good at getting deals that we’ve decided our version of funeral planning will be that when one goes, the other will off him/herself so that the kids can get a two for one on the funeral costs. At that point, I’m going to suggest that they just bury us both in the same coffin to save all the hassle on afterlife conjugal visits.

Well, this sure turned into a happy post.

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I mentioned that my uncle writes. He writes wonderful children’s stories, sometimes he writes stories about his experiences in Vietnam. This is one of the latter:

One Day At A Time
A Nam Story

by
Gene Bishop

Okinawa, in Transit
Day 3, 1966: 1800 hrs.:

Muster being complete all Marines, in transit, promptly reported to the EM Club. Stevens, Sanders, and Atkins found a table and ordered drinks , none of which were Coke-a -cola, Dr Pepper, or Root Beer. Someone placed a quarter in the jukebox and played Mr. Lonely for the eighty-seventh time. The record being played continually by every group of Marines passing through Okinawa had become so worn that the words were indistinct. Sanders’ Singapore Sling arrived ; he placed a quarter on the tray and ordered another drink. Pictures of home were passed around, exploits with girls and cars were boisterously shared. Talk of high school football, hunting, and summer vacations exalted in lofty energetic voices. Escapades of their last stateside liberty was remembered with great exuberance. Oaths were sworn and promises made, drinks were delivered and another order placed.

Atkins was solemn deep in thought, unaware of the activity surrounding him. After some cajoling by his two friends, Atkins ultimately gave up his secret, “I don’t want to be captured, I could not live through something like that.” The other two Marines, in their drunken-state found the solution. They would swear an oath. They agreed not to be taken prisoner, that they would fight to the death if possible. This seemed to comfort Atkins’ whiskey soaked mind. Each realized they would be separated in DaNang and that their oath would be carried out individually. For the hundred and first time someone played Mr. Lonely, drinks were delivered, and another order placed.

——————————————-


Charles Stevens and Gene Bishop (left pic), Charles R Stevens (right pic), Vietnam 1966

The three marines from the story each made it home, injured, but alive. Atkins was the first to be sent home. He had been shot in the leg. We know he had several surgeries but are not sure of the full extent of his injuries. Gene Bishop was shot and sent home. He lost the use of his arm, permanently. We know that Charles R Stevens made it home alive, but that is all we know at this time.

——————————————-
Still searching for Vietnam Veteran
Charles R Stevens- Indianapolis, Indiana (from there)
Marine Corp. 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines, Echo Company,
Da Nang, August 1966-1967

If you have any information email me (amy AT amysmusings DOT com) or Malinda ( mkgssong AT yahoo DOT com) or would like to post this info on your blog - it would be greatly appreciated.

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Wednesday night we were up late (typical of summer for us) and decided to go out on the deck to have a couple of beers and talk while Mike smoked a cigar. It’s so hot that we have to wait until 11:30 or so for it to cool off to a tropical 70 something just so we can enjoy the outdoors a bit.

Maggie soon followed us out and the three of us looked up at the stars and watched a couple of planes fly over. Usually Liza comes out on the deck. She’s not allowed outside but I have sort of trained her that she is allowed out on the deck only. As if one can train a cat… Wednesday night was different because Liza decided to stay in while we were out enjoying the deck.

We had been out there maybe fifteen minutes or so when I heard some bangs and scratches against the sliding glass door that goes into our bedroom. There Liza hung from the top of the door staring at us like one of those Garfield windshield decorations with the suction cup feet.

We laughed and then “we” decided that I should probably get her down before she shredded my curtains or something. I walked over to open the door and found that it had been locked. Apparently on her way up Liza had stepped down on the lever that locks the door. Mike, Maggie and I were locked out. On the deck. Worse yet, we were out of beer.

Maggie immediately started freaking out. You would have thought we were stuck in a blizzard wearing bathing suits or something!

To be fair, Maggie might not have freaked out if I hadn’t started banging on the door screaming for Ethan. Mike, of course, chided me for “panicking.” Although, 20 minutes later, he was yelling for Ethan too.

Maggie and I curled up on a lounge chair and dozed off. Mike stayed up hoping lights would come on downstairs alerting us that Ethan was up roaming the house, while he waited he made himself busy lighting all our citronella candles. He got so busy lighting them that he didn’t notice every light downstairs had been turned on.

The sound of Mike yelling and tossing beer cans at the family room windows startled me awake. As I came around I realized that while I had kept Maggie well-covered, mosquitoes had made a midnight snake of my left arm. Once I realized why Mike was yelling I jumped up and began pitching cans at the kitchen window. When we ran out of cans we went to bottle caps. When we ran out of bottle caps, we gave up.

I curled back up with Maggie and dozed off again.

I woke up around 1:30am when the downstairs door opened. Ethan and Adrian stepped out on to the patio. Mike explained to him that Liza had locked us out.

They laughed.

Ethan said, “Yeah right. We knew you guys were screwing with us!”

!@#$%%^%#@#$!@#

Screwing with them?

Throwing empty cans and bottle caps out our WINDOWS is somehow considered to be a PRANK?

Hardy har har har.

Then they came upstairs and unlocked the door and let us in.

At least we have witnesses. My name is Amy and my cat locked me out of the house.

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SEMPER FI! Still searching for Vietnam Veteran!
Charles R Stevens- Indianapolis, Indiana (from there)
Marine Corp. 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines, Echo Company,
Da Nang, August 1966-1967

If you have any information email me (amy AT amysmusings DOT com) or Malinda ( mkgssong AT yahoo DOT com) or would like to post this info on your blog - it would be greatly appreciated.

I was really impressed by the response yesterday re: my uncle’s friend. I know that some people were dubious that any response would be received at all. I know to some it isn’t as important as many other things going on around the Blogosphere are. I admit, it’s definitely not a life or death situation, but it’s still nice to know that even though it isn’t, people still cared. I’m glad I put my faith in the right place and trusted you guys. I won’t say there haven’t been disappointments, because there certainly have been a few, but I’m going to elect to eliminate the negative and focus on the positive.

A few people said that this was a “good thing” that I did yesterday. Thank you. Although, I didn’t think of it that way. My mom asked me to and it was to help out someone that I love and consider to be a hero. Who, in their right mind, could say no to that? And, the really cool thing is? There were people who saw this and clearly aren’t related and really didn’t even know me, yet they asked to repost this on their blogs. It’s nice to know that some people can still relate or at least respect the affect Vietnam still has on people today. I hope I get to know these bloggers better in the future because they are obviously awesome people.

I have witnessed the blogging community step in to help out in big ways and it was awesome to see that this community will step in even when it’s not a HUGE thing and certainly is not a life or death scenario. It warms my heart to see that there are bloggers who recognize all human issues not just the popular issues or the current hot button issues. Reading the comments and emails yesterday helped bolster my faith in humanity. For that, I can’t thank you enough.

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Remember when I mentioned my Uncle Gene?

Uncle Gene is the man who gave me Christmas spirit, he taught me that you can love someone dearly even though you haven’t seen or spoken to them in over 25 years, he inadvertently gave me a love of Dickens when he sent my mom A Christmas Carol in hardback one year. He also taught me that the Vietnam war can still haunt and affect the generations that came after. If it weren’t for that war I might have had an uncle in my life all these years and my mom would have had all these years with her favorite brother. Instead, we have a great sense of pride for all he has given up for his country and we mourn what we have all lost because of his service to his country.

Born in 1976, I was oblivious to the emotionally charged reprecussions of the Vietnam war. While many disagreed with it, choosing to take out their opinions on the boys who arrived home with pieces missing and heavy-hearts holding nightmares that no word in the english language could begin to describe with accuracy, I instead was raised to be incredibly proud of my Uncle’s sacrifice. I grew up with the results of severe survivor’s guilt, I had no contact, save the few precious Christmas deliveries, with the man who was, without question, a hero to his country, but a hero in the eyes of a girl that he hadn’t seen since the age of three. - Hero Worship, posted 08/15/06

Uncle Gene probably doesn’t completely realize that he’s had that huge of an impact on (what I like to think) his favorite niece. That would be the only upside to his absence - I can assume such titles because he isn’t around to dispute it.

Now it’s my chance to maybe give something back to him. Uncle Gene is looking for someone who served in Vietnam with him and I was hoping someone maybe knows someone who knows someone…

My mom has utilized as many vet searches, military websites (and whew! There are A LOT of them!) as she can find, so I’m sticking this iron in the fire as well.

Gene Bishop - Vietnam

Gene Bishop is looking for Charles Stevens. Here’s all the info I have on Stevens:

Charles R Stevens- Indianapolis, Indiana (from there)
Marine Corp
2nd Battalion, 1st Marines, Echo Company, Da Nang, August 1966-1967
Weapons Platoon, Machine Gun

Graduated from Camp Pendelton and served in Da Nang with Gene Bishop. They trained and graduated together, and spent 48 hours in Okinawa awaiting transit together. They were separated upon arriving at Da Nang Air Force Base, Gene Bishop and Stevens served together until Bishop was wounded in Operation Stone, in 1967 and shipped out to Guam, and then Oakland Naval Hospital in the States.

If you have any information please email me (amy AT amysmusings DOT com) or my mom (mkgssong AT yahoo DOT com). Thank you!!

Update
We’ve had a few emails come in and if you think you might have information - please email!

I want to thank Sheila @ Charm School Reject for not only providing some useful info but posting it on her blog as well. You never realize how small the world is or who your readers are or who they might know - and this is an awesome example of that. Thank you, Sheila!

I’d also like to thank Dazd for supplying contact info for someone that might be able to help us out as well. Thanks!

I will let you know if we can find Charles Stevens. I sure appreciate everyone helping out.

Updated Again

I have had a few people ask me if it would be ok to repost this info on their blog. Please, feel free and please let me know if you do so I can say thank you. This means so much to me that people care.

Thanks to Kapgar for offering to post this as well!

You guys are amazing. Seriously, I’m moved to tears here. Thank you.

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*Please Note The Following*
I wasn’t going to post this, however, my husband read it and thought it was one of the more funny things I have written in a while. My MIL reads my blog, I assume daily. There is a pretty good chance that she won’t see the humor in this and I just want to make it clear, that I wasn’t going to post it, but Mike wanted me to. He said, “Funny trumps all, Amy.” We’ll see… we’ll see.

Ever watch “Everybody Loves Raymond”? Ok, well, that’s my life minus the father-in-law (he died to escape this sort of thing, I’m convinced now) and an MIL who can cook. My MIL cannot cook, she admits this, so it’s ok, I think, to say that. But, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have opinions.

Like the time I cut my hair really short.

“Amy, I can see why Mike likes your hair short it really brings out your face… not that it makes you look any younger.”

That was said at a dinner party in front of several friends. I smiled, walked out of her line of vision and over to my kitchen cupboard where my husband could see me pretending to smash my head between the door and the rest of the cabinet.

Then there was the time she came in with a box containing several brand new sticks of Dove deodorant. She had purchased them at Costco. Later she read that certain deodorants have cancer causing chemicals that seep into your pores. In order to avoid this happening to her she gave them to me.

Last December she sent me an e-card with a snowman who gets coal for Christmas and then laughs and jams the coal into his empty eye sockets. I wasn’t sure if that meant I had been really, really bad or just blind. I made the mistake of joking about the card on my blog.

For my birthday she got me two books I had been wanting. Later after I opened them she announced to everyone at my party:

“You’ll notice I didn’t get you a card. I didn’t want to offend you again.”

I later found out that she told my husband she had no intention of ever getting me a card again.

Did I mention I’m beginning to assume she can’t take a joke?

(Watch the comments, peeps, don’t get us in anymore trouble!)

And, now for something really important… I can’t think of anyone I know who hasn’t lost someone to cancer. I’ve lost both of my grandfathers, my aunt, and my great aunt. Please read this post by Karen and if you can help in anyway, prayers, donations, sending emails, ANYTHING - please do.

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Mike avoids confrontation. Not in that bad “avoids confrontation” way, just in a “try every other peaceful avenue first” kind of way. It’s a hippie-fied, ex-stoner approach that usually works out pretty well. His philosophy is, “You can always say it later.”

I admire that. As painfully slow and drawn out as it is. It’s still a nice way to go about wherever. But, I think we all have that little voice inside of us that says, “confrontation is unavoidable! Unavoidable, dumbass!” I think Mike just likes to ignore that voice. Kind of like he ignores me from time to time.

You see, I’m what I like to think of as the “horror movie” mentality. No, no, not blood and guts unless it’s totally necessary. Remember watching a horror movie, say “Halloween” for instance, and remember when Jamie Lee Curtis stabs Michael Meyers in the eye with the hanger? Remember how she dropped the knife and sort of sobbed her way into the hall and collapsed? Remember (sort of like when you see her on the yogurt commercials) yelling, “don’t DO that you freaking IDIOT!!!!”?

Ok, see I live by the opposite of that. I don’t stab someone in the eyeball and run away. I’m kind of more, stay there and make sure the job gets done, if you know what I mean. He can’t jump up and chase you down the street if he has no legs. Right? Riiiiiight.

And, that’s just all I’m saying, hit once, hit hard and be done with it. Why pussyfoot around?

Not to say that approach is right. I mean, sure it’s necessary sometimes, but other times Mike’s philosophy is the better way to go. At least there are fewer bloodstains to clean up that way. I guess that’s why we sort of balance each other out. He soft shoes it and I bring in a croquet mallet.

Which is not to say he isn’t capable of a croquet mallet action. He totally is and he’s very effective. I’m just saying that I’m not patient like he is and he has to kind of warm up to mallet. Me, I sort of keep mine with me, look at it lovingly, and polish it.

The thing is, I firmly believe that both personality quirks have their place in the world.

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EDIT: Another good reason to be disgusted with BlogHer.

Tim is up north. Julie is out of the country. That leaves Adrian and Ethan alone… carving cucumbers, tweaking each other’s nipples, or God only knows what other horrifying things they might do!

Adrian is useless in terms of blogging. Seriously. He stayed up until 4am studying for a Calculus exam, then took the exam today, then went to work (Abercrombie and Fitch) and THEN came over and passed out for two hours. He still looks tired. Thus… when I screeched at him that I needed blog inspiration he looked at me like this :shock: and just think, he’s the super smart one out of the bunch.

I tried to take a video to see if they would do something funny… what they did could not be described as funny.

Boys are icky. Cute… but icky. Like a baby frog until it pees in your hand.

That kind of cute/icky thing.

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